goods to earn her keep. Instead she’d become the Gatekeeper, commanding creatures from the other realm of perception to kill for her. She supposed power wasn’t something one was born with. It was something one earned.
“I’m only asking you to do what I would if I had your talent. I’m not asking you to stop them yourself.”
“So you only want me to find out who’s leading the operation?”
“Exactly. Give me their names and a few bits of concrete information, like where and when they meet to receive their payments. Armed with that knowledge, I can go to my father. He’ll put an end to it.”
The carriage pulled up in front of the Justice Bureau and stopped.
“There’s not much time,” Rivva said. “Can I count on you?”
It sounded reasonable when Rivva laid it out, but there was still the matter of the promise Jora had made to the king. To renege on that would make her a traitor. Except for the nagging certainty that the king had been about to ask her to investigate before Dominee Ibsa entered. If King Yaphet suspected the jewel-loving, book-stealing dominee of being involved in the smuggling, her presence would have stilled his tongue.
The footman opened the door and offered his gloved hand to assist the women.
“Jora?”
“I’m sorry, Rivva,” Jora said. “I don’t–”
The princess raised one delicate hand. “Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. Her loops of careful curls flopped, threatening to break free from their pins. “You haven’t had time to consider, and I apologize. It’s unfair of me to ask you for a decision now. Before you give me your final answer, could I ask you to sleep on it? That will also give me time to ask my father why he changed his mind.”
Though Jora was inclined to refuse unless she heard the request directly from the king, she couldn’t dash Rivva’s hopes without at least promising to think it over. Perhaps the king would grant her another audience without the dominee there to interfere. She nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow to get your answer.”
They strode together down the wide corridor toward the courtroom where Jora’s trial had been held. Members of the Order, including the elders and adepts who were serving as her judges, scurried down the hall and into the room, obviously responding to the warning that the princess and the accused had returned. When Jora entered and returned to her seat, she placed the folded parchment containing her pardon on her lap and tried to wipe her hands off on her trousers without anyone noticing.
Across the room, Justice Captain Milad glared at her, his armed crossbow cocked and pointed directly at her chest.
Once the three elders and three adepts had settled into their seats, Rivva stepped forward but only as far as the well of the room, a single step beyond the spectators’ gallery. “If it pleases the court, I would like to speak on behalf of Miss Jora Lanseri.”
The audience members shuffled and settled onto their seats, whispering, “pardon me” or an occasional apology after eliciting a wince of pain.
“Elder Tornal,” Rivva said as she approached the elders’ bench. “As Miss Lanseri will show you, King Yaphet has issued her a pardon.”
Murmurs ripped through the gallery.
The elders looked at each other. “A... pardon?” Elder Gastone asked. “Let me see it.”
Jora started to rise, but one enforcer shoved her back into her seat with a hand on her shoulder while another held out his hand expectantly for the paper on her lap. She hesitantly gave it over, worried that one of them would rip it up. Surely not. Not in front of the princess.
The enforcer handed the paper up to Tornal and returned to his position behind Jora’s right shoulder.
Tornal peered through his spectacles at the paper in his hands. He harrumphed and passed it to Elder Gastone. “Well, then, young lady,” Tornal said. “I suppose fortune smiles upon you
“I’m only asking you to do what I would if I had your talent. I’m not asking you to stop them yourself.”
“So you only want me to find out who’s leading the operation?”
“Exactly. Give me their names and a few bits of concrete information, like where and when they meet to receive their payments. Armed with that knowledge, I can go to my father. He’ll put an end to it.”
The carriage pulled up in front of the Justice Bureau and stopped.
“There’s not much time,” Rivva said. “Can I count on you?”
It sounded reasonable when Rivva laid it out, but there was still the matter of the promise Jora had made to the king. To renege on that would make her a traitor. Except for the nagging certainty that the king had been about to ask her to investigate before Dominee Ibsa entered. If King Yaphet suspected the jewel-loving, book-stealing dominee of being involved in the smuggling, her presence would have stilled his tongue.
The footman opened the door and offered his gloved hand to assist the women.
“Jora?”
“I’m sorry, Rivva,” Jora said. “I don’t–”
The princess raised one delicate hand. “Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. Her loops of careful curls flopped, threatening to break free from their pins. “You haven’t had time to consider, and I apologize. It’s unfair of me to ask you for a decision now. Before you give me your final answer, could I ask you to sleep on it? That will also give me time to ask my father why he changed his mind.”
Though Jora was inclined to refuse unless she heard the request directly from the king, she couldn’t dash Rivva’s hopes without at least promising to think it over. Perhaps the king would grant her another audience without the dominee there to interfere. She nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow to get your answer.”
They strode together down the wide corridor toward the courtroom where Jora’s trial had been held. Members of the Order, including the elders and adepts who were serving as her judges, scurried down the hall and into the room, obviously responding to the warning that the princess and the accused had returned. When Jora entered and returned to her seat, she placed the folded parchment containing her pardon on her lap and tried to wipe her hands off on her trousers without anyone noticing.
Across the room, Justice Captain Milad glared at her, his armed crossbow cocked and pointed directly at her chest.
Once the three elders and three adepts had settled into their seats, Rivva stepped forward but only as far as the well of the room, a single step beyond the spectators’ gallery. “If it pleases the court, I would like to speak on behalf of Miss Jora Lanseri.”
The audience members shuffled and settled onto their seats, whispering, “pardon me” or an occasional apology after eliciting a wince of pain.
“Elder Tornal,” Rivva said as she approached the elders’ bench. “As Miss Lanseri will show you, King Yaphet has issued her a pardon.”
Murmurs ripped through the gallery.
The elders looked at each other. “A... pardon?” Elder Gastone asked. “Let me see it.”
Jora started to rise, but one enforcer shoved her back into her seat with a hand on her shoulder while another held out his hand expectantly for the paper on her lap. She hesitantly gave it over, worried that one of them would rip it up. Surely not. Not in front of the princess.
The enforcer handed the paper up to Tornal and returned to his position behind Jora’s right shoulder.
Tornal peered through his spectacles at the paper in his hands. He harrumphed and passed it to Elder Gastone. “Well, then, young lady,” Tornal said. “I suppose fortune smiles upon you
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